


Under Way

by alltoseek



Series: Going Under [3]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Related, Episode: s3e02 Where There's a Will, Fix-It, Gen, scheming!Mozzie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-22 06:52:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10691985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek
Summary: “I am here on the noblest of missions," said Mozzie. "To clear Neal’s good name and reverse the terrible mistake the Suit has made.”Part 3 of the canon-divergent AU where Peter found the stolen treasure before Neal discovered the card and key at his apartment.





	1. Chapter 1

Mozzie appeared on June’s doorstep just as Elizabeth knocked. She looked askance at him. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here, Mister.”

“Excuse me,” he huffed. “I happen to be a founding member of this very exclusive club.”

June had opened the door while he was talking. She stood arms akimbo, looking at Mozzie much the way El was.

He resumed his offensive. “I might say the same to you, Mrs. Suit, except I am not one to hold another accountable for the actions of an associate, or even a spouse.”

Two pairs of eyebrows shot up. “Are you claiming to have had nothing to do with the treasure?” asked El.

“And blaming it entirely on Neal?” added June.

“And what do you mean about Peter - are you implying _he_ stole it?!”

“Au contraire, my friends,” he said. “I am here on the noblest of missions - to clear Neal’s good name and reverse the terrible mistake the Suit has made.”

The two women shared a glance. “I think we’d better discuss this inside,” said June, yielding gracefully.

~~~

 

They sat, as usual, around the coffee table on the cozy sofa and armchairs. Each had elected for a glass of wine over tea.

Moz related the tale of “Gary” and Lawrence, the sixty million and Agent Jones. El had heard Peter’s carefully abridged version, but June hadn’t heard any of it.

“And then just as we had saved the day, the perfidy of the Suit --”

June held up a hand. “I do not wish to discuss matters beyond our control.”

“Not to mention you’re asking us to swallow that you - perfectly innocently - just so happened to have a suitable aircraft at hand,” added Elizabeth.

Mozzie looked at El evenly. “Obtaining the use of the plane called upon resources we could ill spare. But Neal is nothing if not generous, especially when a life is at stake. We do not begrudge the cost, I assure you.”

“Mozzie,” said June, forestalling the gathering storm in El’s expression. “You said you came here to clear Neal’s name.”

“Yes, and I’m hoping I can draw upon your assistance.”

“You can,” she said gravely, _“if_ you can assure me that Neal had nothing to do with the theft.”

“I can, absolutely. In addition, like Neal, I offer my most sincere apologies that you and your household have been discommoded by Neal’s and my links to Adler and his nefarious schemes.”

June nodded, but her eyes remained wary.

El looked between the two of them. “Should I be here for this?” she asked. “I’m not keeping any secrets from Peter - not on this subject.”

“I wouldn’t ask June to take any actions of a less than perfectly legitimate nature,” assured Mozzie. “It might be preferable for the Suit to remain unaware of the source of this particular line of inquiry; however, as June will be involved, he will no doubt draw his own conclusions.”

“Ohhh-kaaay,” said El, mulling this over. “So if you’re not kicking me out...” Neither of the others spoke. “Then please, tell us the plan - my curiosity is killing me!”

“Do enlighten us,” agreed June.

Mozzie smiled broadly. “Excellent! Let me start by mentioning, June, that when Neal and I were recently researching out at Ellis Island, I took the liberty of investigating immigration records of your family. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t,” said June, puzzled. “They’re public records after all. But I’m not sure how that’s -- Oh!” Her eyes lit up and her lips curved into a smile.

“Yes, exactly,” grinned Mozzie. “Now, listen closely…”

The two women huddled in to hear the details of Mozzie’s plan.

**~*~oOo~*~**

 

Peter let out a great sigh when he got home that evening, and sank into the comfort of El’s welcoming arms.

“Bad day?” she asked.

“Nah, it’s just… I hate that Neal’s back in prison. I hate it, and I miss him.” Peter could only admit these things at home. With his eyes closed.

El made sympathetic, comforting noises, hugging him back.

After a moment he pulled away and slumped down into a chair at the dining room table. “I still don’t think he did it - we don’t have any additional evidence that he’s involved - but it’s all too suspicious and too dangerous to leave him free. Well, relatively free. No anklet will hold him when he can call up a private airplane on a moment’s notice.”

El had sat in the chair catercorner from him, leaning her head on her hand, elbow on the table. She nodded, concerned and understanding.

“And to top it all off, everyone who thinks that their family might have lost something to the Nazis is now clamoring for a list of the items recovered, to see if their precious heirloom has been found.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, ‘wow’. The State Department is leaning on us. I don’t mind turning the lot over to them to guard - I wouldn’t want it lost again on my watch - but we can’t have word get out about what exactly is in there. Not yet.”

“Why not?” asked El, puzzled.

“Because --” Peter cut himself off. “For, uh, for procedural reasons. Until the case is finalized. Closed or brought to trial.”

“You think that State might leak what was recovered?”

“I think that the fewer people who know the better. And yeah, I think State is highly susceptible to political pressure - not that the FBI's entirely immune. Ugh.” He leaned his long frame back as best he could, dropping his head and closing his eyes.

“Well, no pressure here, hon, political or otherwise,” said El cheerfully. She stood up and briefly rested a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder, on her way into the kitchen to bring out dinner.

A heavier weight settled on Peter’s thigh and he looked down to see Satchmo’s head on his leg. The Lab looked mournfully up at him, tail sweeping a gentle arc along the floor. Peter pet the dog’s head and smiled a little. “Yeah, buddy, I know,” he said softly.

“What was that, hon?” called El.

“Just Satch being a friend.”

“Of course he is,” she cooed, setting the food out on the table. “The best. Especially when dinner’s involved.”

Peter regained his perspective while he ate, basking in the comfort of his home. All of his problems were minor. The worst being Neal; he couldn’t stand thinking of him locked up while he himself enjoyed all the comforts of freedom. But then, that’s where life choices led you. You commit too many crimes, tell too many lies, people stop trusting you - it’s a natural consequence.

The worst was the hurt and betrayed look in Neal’s eyes when he realized the arrest had nothing to do with his cover and everything to do with _him_. Peter tried not to think about that at all. “This is really good, El,” he said, taking another huge mouthful.

“Thanks. I’ll pass along your compliments to Armando,” she said brightly, grinning.

“Well, thank you for picking up such a delicious dinner, hon.” He leaned over to kiss her.

“You’re very welcome.” She smiled warmly and kissed him back.

Peter scraped the last off his plate and leaned back with his wine. “Your friend June was one of the folks inquiring about treasure.”

 _“My_ friend June?”

“Well, yeah. You do that book club thing with her, right? Did you know her grandfather lived in France?”

“I… never thought about her background.”

“Interesting history, that man. Achour was his name. He was born in Algeria, then emigrated to France along with a lot of other Algerians after the first World War.”

“Huh. That is interesting.”

“He was doing pretty well in France right up until the Nazis and the Vichy government.”

“Ooh - but then…”

“Yeah. June’s mother had already come to the United States with her American husband, but they never learned what happened to Grandpa Achour. Or his art collection.”

“Was he a significant collector?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘significant’ exactly, but he had a couple of paintings by Bonnat, a pastel by Raffaelli, a drawing by Dupré...”

“So relatively modern artists, for his time.”

“Yeah. Apparently he had pretty good taste. June never saw any of them herself, but she said her mother often reminisced about the landscapes, and a mesmerizing painting of a young girl, also a nostalgic picture of the Champs-Élysées… some lovely work.”

“Do you know if any - oh, right. Of course you can’t answer that.”

Peter looked at her. “I would love to return June’s family’s artwork to her, assuming they’re even among what we recovered. Hell, I’d love to return all of it to whoever should have it. But that’s not even my job. And like I said --”

“You can’t even confirm or deny what was recovered.”

“Not yet. But soon. I hope.” He sighed. “Honestly, I think the list of what we’ve recovered will be available far sooner than any of the items will be restored to families. Thank God I won’t be involved in that mess.”

“Still, must be nice for June to have hope,” said El.

“Yeah.” Peter smiled. “It’s great that we’ll eventually be able to restore all these treasures that have been lost for so long.”


	2. Chapter 2

In the interview room at the MCC, Peter was waiting impatiently.

When Neal entered the room, sullen in his orange jumpsuit, he sat at the table without looking at Peter.

Peter stood arms akimbo, looking down at him. “I’m sorry about how how things turned out. For you. Being back here.”

Neal made no movement, no indication that he’d heard him.

Peter sighed, looking away. He opened up a file he had brought with him, placing it in front of Neal. “We’re hoping to get your assistance with this case. It’s right up your alley: We need to figure out which of these wills is authentic and which is forged.”

Neal looked at Peter incredulously. “Why the _hell_ would I even think about helping you? The only reason I’m even in this room is I’m not allowed to refuse visits from law enforcement.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Neal, you have to admit it was pretty suspicious, how quickly Mozzie turned up with an airplane, of all things.”

“Oh, is it? Why the hell shouldn’t Moz have an airplane? Or routine access to one? He is a pilot. He travels - can you imagine Moz flying commercial?”

Peter huffed a laugh.

Neal continued, “Would you be surprised if you discovered Mozzie has a car? How about a taxi? Would that make you ‘suspicious’?”

Peter did a double-take at ‘taxi’. “Moz has a taxi?”

Neal gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Peter got back on-topic. “Look, you can’t possibly expect us to ignore how easy it would have been for you and Moz to just fly off --”

“Yes, Hughes very carefully explained how my release was for the Lawrence case only, which you must have ‘forgotten’ to mention,” Neal interjected. “Peter, I asked you directly --”  he cut himself off and turned back to the stone he’d been impersonating at the start.

Peter sat down quickly, across from Neal. “I was honest with you, Neal; I do believe you--”

“Sometimes I forget which of us is supposed to be the conman,” Neal interrupted again.

Peter threw his arms up. “Fine! Just… fine!” He stood up, paused, started to leave, but then turned back. “No, dammit, it isn’t fine, because I need your help on this one. Look - just look at them, all right?”  From the file he pulled out two nearly identical wills and set them side by side. “See, look at these signatures... What are these witnesses, Hatch O’Brey? Really? And Byth? What kind of name is that?” Peter trailed off, staring at the names. “Horace I can buy… Hang on, these names…” Peter started mumbling to himself while Neal continued to imitate a statue. “The same letters in both witness names, what’re the odds… bet they’re anagrams. Hey, Neal, wanna see if you can beat me to what these are anagrams of?”

Neal was still impassive. Peter waited a bit, watching him, getting nothing in response. “Okay. Your loss.” He shrugged and stood, gathering the file together. “You can entertain yourself looking at your four walls and cell door. Shouldn’t be any trouble for a four-time puzzlethon champion like me to figure this one out,” he said as he walked out the door.

**~*~oOo~*~**

 

Mozzie’s directions to the meet were as obscure and convoluted as usual. Hale shook his head at the absurdity. Still, the little guy had never been caught; there was something to be said for all that paranoia. Plus, it kept Hale’s brain sharp, puzzling Mozzie’s instructions out. Kept him on his own game. But that boy needed Neal to rein in his oddities. Hale chuckled at the thought - that anyone might require _Neal_ as a moderating influence.

Maybe Mozzie needed these exercises to keep his own big brain occupied. Must be hard, all those gears churning without much to bite into, especially with Caffrey back in the pen...

Hale’s reflections were interrupted by the arrival of the man in question. He greeted Mozzie warily. “I hope you are not here to get me to fence any of that Nazi loot. I won’t touch it; not a bit of it.”

Moz frowned. “I thought the Feds had recovered it. Have you heard that there’s still some out there?”

Hale scoffed. “Everyone knows you took it, and you’re a squirrel. You have stuff stashed in boltholes all over the place.”

“How is it that everyone knows I took it? I don’t even know that! Am I suddenly the only thief left in New York?” Mozzie gestured broadly, arms spread wide.

Hale crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t you try to pull the wool over my eyes, young man. This kind of impossibly big haul has you and Neal written all over it.”

“Need I remind you that it was Adler who located it and hauled it onto land without anyone - seemingly - the wiser? Impossibly large hauls bring attention from all sorts.”

“Perhaps, but it was Neal who helped Adler open the boat up. Adler’s dead, you and Neal aren’t, guess who has the rest of the treasure now?”

“Not me, my friend, not me. But I do intend to find out who does, because Neal had nothing to do with taking it, and I need to clear his name, since no one else will. That’s what I wanted your help with - not fencing any of it, if there is any left to fence. Have you heard that there’s more floating around than what the Feds got? Or is that merely an assumption based upon your impeccable logic of Adler to Neal to Moz to squirrel?”

Hale chuckled. “All right. If you don’t need me to touch any Nazi loot, and you’re trying to clear Neal of it, then I’ll help you. As for there being more treasure than what the Feds got - I don’t know. There are some rumors. A couple of Adler’s henchmen have been seen around town.”

“Really?” Mozzie’s surprise seemed genuine. “I’d think that any of them who hadn’t got swept up by the Feds already would have been long gone by now.”

“Yeah, that’s what you’d think, sure. Unless…”

“Unless there’s still treasure in the wind. Very well, here’s what I need you to do…”

**~*~oOo~*~**

 

Hale was kicking back at the local sports bar, watching the game and nursing a beer, when a large young man landed in the seat next to him. “Hey, Leon, my man!” Hale greeted him genially. “How you been, son?”

“Not so good, Mr. H., not so good,” Leon said in a deep husky voice, shaking his head.

“I told you not to get mixed up with Adler. That man was as nasty a piece of work as they come.”

“I know it, Mr. H., I know it. But he had this way of talking to you…”

“Made you feel like the only man in the room? Like you were more intelligent than the average guy off the street?”

“Yeah, and he could tell you stuff you were sure couldn’t be true, but they sounded so good when he said ‘em. Like you just had to believe him.”

Hale’s eyes shone with sympathy. “All signs of the great con, Leon. You learn from them, you don’t fall for them.”

“I know it. I know it,” said Leon, his broad face creased with remorse. “But the money was so damn good. Really good.”

“While it lasted.”

“Yeah.” Leon took a long swallow of his beer.

“You got any of that payday left?”

“Nah. He kept saying, you know, reinvest it with him, you get in on a bigger scheme, a bigger payoff. And man, this was gonna be the best score yet. Like, unimaginable, I mean, and it was. He wasn’t shittin’ us. It was fucking huge.”

“Language,” chided Hale. 

“Sorry, Mr. H. It’s just, those goddamn Feds, sticking their nose in it.” Leon drained the rest of his pint and signaled for a refill.

“I heard Adler needed the Feds to even get the treasure outta the sub.”

“Fu--udge, I should bailed when he pulled that shit. But he’s all, ‘I got a plan’. And man, his plans, damn…”

“His plans ended with him dead.”

“Yeah, and then that fu-- that golden boy twink of his just walked away with all of it, damn.”

“You actually see him with it?” asked Hale. “And he ain’t walked away with nothing - he’s in the joint.”

“Really? I heard he was out and flying off somewhere with millions.”

“Nah, that turned out to be another set-up by the Feds. He’s back inside.”

“Like a fu- a damn yo-yo, that fancy pants kid. If he’s so smart, how come he got caught and I’m walking around scot-free?

“Scot-free and broke.”

“Well, not exactly broke. Just, not so rich as I was planning to be, you know?”

“And you didn’t get anything off that sub? After all that? Not even a trinket?”

“Not a fuc-- not a dime, nope. Nothing got distributed until it was all safe, said Mr. Adler. And it’s not like most of us would know how to get the best price for the goods - no offense, Mr. H., but we’re looking at stratospheric numbers, and hot - I’m talking like nuclear hot.”

“None taken, I assure you. I wouldn’t touch the stuff, you’re right about that.” Hale gave him a skeptical look. “But you didn’t even set something aside? A little personal back-up plan?”

“I know, Mr. H., I know what you taught me, but damn, try to steal from Mr. Adler? Might as well cut my own throat.” Leon dragged a wide hand across his thick neck. “No, I wouldn’t dare.”

“And no one else did, either, huh.”

“Not so’s they told me. Why you asking about all this? I thought the Feds had recovered it all.”

“Yeah, so did I, but see, there’s this thing about Caffrey - yo-yo boy, you called him.”

“Yeahhh... Oh fuuu-- I see, Mr. H.! If the Feds got it all, and Mr. Fancy Twink helped, then why is he back in the pen? And then there was all that about Mr. Adler needing him to get the goods past the Feds. That was all part of his plan, you know. Mr. Adler thinks things  _ aallll _ the way through. Long,  _ long _ cons. Like a real-life chess game that lasts for years. That’s why I got with him, you know, Mr. H.,” said Leon in an aside. “Despite what you said. Dude knew what he was doing.”

“Right up until he died, sure he did. But what were you saying about Adler and Caffrey and getting past the Feds?”

Leon hunched in close, speaking under the noise of the television and the hooting and cheering of the bar patrons.  “Okay, so, Mr. Adler needed his old golden boy to unlock the sub without it getting blown up. But he also knew involving the twink meant tipping off the Feds. So, he knows he’s gonna need to get past ‘em. He sets up this crazy-ass super-villain death scenario, like something outta Batman or James Bond, which he knows Golden Twink will survive, like a goddamn hero, ‘cos he’s a slippery fu-- a slippery thing, can’t keep him locked up for love nor money.”

“Yeah, I heard about that - couldn’t believe it. I thought someone had been telling tall tales. Double-oh seven, sure enough. Seriously though, Adler had them chained them up and chucked in a dry dock, then opened the sluice? Who  _ does _ that?!”

“Mr. Adler does. Did, anyway. The idea was, the twink would get out, then the guys would shoot him, but not kill him. Same for the Fed and the girl. Then he’d get a choice - help get the treasure out of the country, or his friends start dying for real.”

Hale shook his head. “Nasty piece of work, I told you. So you went along with this?”

“Well, I, uh, most of it I learned afterwards. I worked logistics mostly. You know I’m not one for fighting,” said the big man in his soft voice. “Not violence, and not killing especially. You taught me that.”

“I’m glad one thing sank in that thick head of yours.”

Leon grinned weakly. “You also taught me to value smarts, and Mr. Adler was smart, you have to give him that. Probably the smartest man I ever met.”

“But he was vicious, and I told you to stay away from vicious. Vicious trumps smarts, boy. Doesn’t matter how intelligent a man is, if he’s mean and nasty, you gotta stay away.” Hale sat back and sipped at his ale.

“Yeah, I got that now.” The conversation paused while Leon downed half his pint and they both caught replays of the highlights from the game.

“Oh, but I was telling you,” resumed Leon, shifting towards Hale. “The thing is, Mr. Adler was a carrot-and-stick man. Mostly carrots. Although with Twinkie he knew he needed the leverage of the stick - you know, the shooting and death threats. But he had a carrot too - a big one. He was going to offer him a large percentage of the treasure for his help. When the cavalry showed up and no one got shot, golden boy’s share probably went up to half, because Mr. Adler’d lost his stick, see.”

“Okay, but how does that explain why Caffrey’s still in jail? He didn’t help, is the upshot.”

“Ah, but I told you how Mr. Adler’s a long-term planner. I think --” here Leon curled his shoulders and leaned in closer, practically whispering to Hale, “-- I bet Mr. Adler had already moved part of the treasure - maybe even half - out of the warehouse.”

Hale’s eyes widened. “No shit. Really?”

“Okay, so I don’t know this for certain, it’s just a guess, but it’s absolutely something he’d do. Hedge his bets, you know what I mean? Especially once the Fed survived, they’d know where the warehouse was - could figure it out pretty close, anyway. If Twinkie didn’t take Mr. Adler’s offer, then he’d lose just the half still in the warehouse to the Feds.”

Hale was skeptical. “If he could move some, why not move all of it?”

“Well, it is just a guess. But here’s why: One, then all of us would know that it had already been moved. He’d have to tell us where it is and he’d need a lot of help moving it. If he moved only a part, he’d need less help and could fool most of us. That would limit the risk and his liability. Then two, if he did split the treasure, he probably moved the smallest and most liquid items, you know what I mean?”

Hale nodded slowly, thinking this over.

“And finally, if everything had been moved out of the warehouse right away, the Feds would know they hadn’t got the treasure, so they would keep looking for it.”

“But Adler had planned to get away with it all, so they would be looking for him anyway.”

“Yeah, but it would be split up, so the Feds’ attention would be divided too. At least in half: Twinkie with his, us with ours. And this was the big payout, so some of us might have taken it in kind, you know? Instead of waiting for Mr. Adler to convert it into cash. Depends how he’d play it. If it was all split up, the Feds would be trying to chase it down everywhere. Golden boy’s pretty good, the tricky type; he’d lay down all sorts of false trails. So would Mr. Adler - they never caught him after his Ponzi scheme, and he’d fleeced folks out of billions. Also, he could afford to lie low, not offload anything traceable, hold onto stuff for years. Let the Feds chase their tails. Or Twinkie’s tail.”

Hale nodded again. “Sooo... with Adler dead, this hypothetical second stash might still be out there?”

“It’s possible - or, oh,” Leon’s doughy face drooped. “That could be the stash they found, and the first did go up in flames, still in the warehouse.”

“Hmm. You’ve given me a lot to think about, son; I appreciate that.”

“No problem, Mr. H. Anything for you, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do, kid.” Hale smiled at him kindly.

“So, uh, any particular reason you’re asking about the treasure?”

“I wasn’t asking,” said Hale gently. “You’ve just been telling me.”

“Oh yeah, right, sorry.” The young man looked down and away.

“It’s not a problem, son. The thing is,” he added confidentially, as Leon turned back, “I have some friends whose family - parents, grandparents - were victims of the Nazis.”

“No shit, really?” The heavy lids of Leon’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, wow. Like, they had valuable stuff confiscated? Artwork, gold?”

“Yep. Everything taken, some of them; came to America with little more than the clothes on their backs. But the thing is, some of their property was valuable, and even more so today, if it could be located.”

“Do they know if any of it was in the recovered stash?”

“Mmm. The Feds are keeping a tight lid on what they found. My friends have been asking, but they haven’t got answers yet.”

“So if there is another stash, and any of your friends’ valuables are in it…”

“That’s right, son. You think that over. Let me know if anything comes up.”

“I’ll do that, Mr. H. I sure will.” Leon stood, ready to take his leave.

“Give my best to your momma now.”

“I will, Mr. H., I will.”


	3. Chapter 3

When the guard opened the door to the interview room, Neal was surprised to see Jones there instead of Peter. With him was a man Neal had never met.

He nodded warily to Jones, who nodded back.

“Caffrey, this is Josh Roland --”

“Ah, the wills,” Neal said, understanding dawning. He tightened his expression - he still wasn’t interested in cooperating and he didn’t appreciate this attempt at manipulation.

“Mr. Caffrey,” said Roland, coming forward. “I know a disagreement between two brothers over their million-dollar inheritance seems trivial to you, but now my niece has been kidnapped --”

“Kidnapped? I don’t generally work kidnappings.” Neal looked wildly over to Jones.

“We know,” Jones cut in. “We’ve got Missing Persons working the case, too.”

“I’m just trying to explain our urgency,” resumed Roland. “Savannah’s only six years old. No one wants to see her hurt.”

“Of course not,” Neal said, unenlightened.

“The ransom demand is the amount left in cash by Roland senior,” explained Jones.

“That should give you a hint as to where to look for the kidnapper,” said Neal, still wondering why they were here and whether he was going to be blamed for anything related to this case, too.

“Yeah,” said Jones, “and like I said, Missing Persons is working that side.” 

“The thing is, Mr. Caffrey,” interjected Roland, “neither my brother nor I have anything like the six and half million dollars the kidnapper is demanding.”

Neal whistled. “That is a lot,” he agreed.

“We need to find the authentic will and claim our inheritance, so we can pay the ransom demand, in case the FBI can’t find Savannah.”

“Of course,” he said, immediately dropping all resentment. He let his face and body language open up.“I am at your complete disposal.” His hands spread wide to indicate his utter lack of other engagements. 

**~*~oOo~*~**

 

Hale took out his phone as he felt it vibrate in his pocket. He smiled when he saw the display. “Yeah, son? You got something good for me?”

Leon did, and Hale smiled even wider when he heard it.

**~*~oOo~*~**

  
  


Neal, Jones, and Josh Roland sat around the table.

“So far we’ve figured out that it’s some kind of treasure hunt,” said Josh. “There’s what looks like a map in the watermark of the paper.”

Neal frowned. “A treasure hunt - is that something your father would do?”

“Absolutely,” said Josh, grimacing. “We’ve tried to stop playing his games, but obviously he found a way to have us go one more time.”

“Does the name Tycho Brahe mean anything to you? Or to your father?”

“Oh yes. Dad was a huge astronomy fan.”

“Good. We have a place to start. I didn’t get much of a look at the disputed wills --”

Jones opened up his folder and slapped down the two wills.

“Excellent! Thank you.” Neal smiled at Jones, then turned his attention back to the papers, growing serious again. “Yes, as I remembered, these were made within the last year. Did your father do anything significant involving astronomy or Tycho Brahe recently?”

Josh frowned. “I believe he made a large donation to the Planetarium. Something about a special room for some famous astronomer?”

Jones was already taking out his phone. “I’ll call over there, see what -- Hello? Yes, this is Special Agent Clinton Jones with the FBI…” Jones stepped away.

“I assume that being an astronomy buff, your father was fond of the Planetarium?”

“Yes, he visited often, took us there all the time when we were kids. He made several large donations to them over the years.”

Jones was off the phone. “Roland sponsored an exhibit of Tycho Brahe, the centerpiece being the first printed collection of his works, donated by Nathaniel himself.”

“Great!” said Josh. “Let’s go.” He stood up.

Neal looked inquiringly over at Jones. “Can you even take me out of here?”

“Uhh… Not sure. I’d have to ask Peter.”

“I just want to make sure we’re going in the right direction, not wasting our time,” he said to Josh. “The book he donated - or anything else - does it still belong to the family, or is it owned by the Planetarium?”

Jones got back on the phone.

“What difference does that make?” demanded Josh.

“No one in their right mind is likely to leave an important document where random strangers could get hold of it,” he explained. “I assume even if your father was eccentric he was still sane when he made his will.”

“Yes.” Josh frowned.

“He wanted you to solve the hunt. All the clues he left would have to stay right where he left them. He wouldn’t want the public or even museum staff to be able to disturb them.”

Josh nodded slowly. “If the book is ours, we can ask for it back, claim anything hidden in it.”

“Okay,” said Jones, back off the phone. “Everything was donated outright - it’s owned by the Planetarium - and there are very specific instructions regarding the Brahe work. It’s kept under glass in special conditions to preserve the paper. No one is allowed to open the glass or handle the book.”

“Well, that would keep the public and the museum from disturbing it,” observed Josh.

“Yes, and us also,” said Neal.

“But we have to - for Savannah!” exclaimed Josh. 

Jones shook his head. “They said the restrictions were very clear.”

“More important than a little girl’s life?! How can they --”

Neal held up his hands in a calming gesture. “If your dad said the book wasn’t to be disturbed, then it can’t be that important to obtain. Perhaps we just need to look at it through the glass?”

Jones already had photos of it sent to his phone. Three heads pored over them.

“Anything?” Jones asked.

Josh shook his head.

“I got nothing,” said Neal.

Josh thrust his hands through his carefully groomed hair. “This is ridiculous!” He stood and started pacing round the small room.

Jones and Neal exchanged glances. “If you’d prefer to be back with your family…?” offered the agent.

“No, no, I’m not much use there either. They said they’d call if they had any updates or questions, anything they needed from me.” Josh sighed.

“Okay,” said Neal, “let’s work this from another angle. What we’re looking for is going to be under control of your family, even in the event of your father’s death - something you can get at, before authenticating the will or waiting through probate.”

“All right - so, some place of Dad’s related to astronomy?”

“Possibly,” he conceded. “I hate to bring this up, but Tycho and the Planetarium might have been the start of the hunt, and then clues start pointing in other directions.”

“Jesus.” Josh scrubbed his face.

“So, knowing your dad, what places were important to him, safe, and accessible to you and your brother?”

“The family home,” answered Josh immediately. “Everywhere else was public, or private just to him, like his safe deposit boxes.”

“Any second homes? Vacation homes?”

Josh shook his head. “No, we’d vacation in different places. See the world - or rather, we’d see the night sky in different parts of the world.”

“Did he have an observatory on top of your home?” asked Jones. “Or a telescope?”

Josh started to shake his head, then reconsidered. “Our roof is no good for observations, but Dad did have a telescope. Probably all sorts of equipment.” He took out his phone. “I’ll call James, ask him to look through it.”

Jones also made a call. “I’ll ask Burke if one of our agents can help.”

**~*~oOo~*~**

 

Considering what was at stake, Hale had more patience than usual for Mozzie’s paranoid precautions for their meeting. He himself wanted a little connection to the business as possible.

“All right, squirrel,” he said, just to see Mozzie twitch. Even though he understood the need for excessive caution, he was still going to tweak the little man whenever he could. “You asked me for help, and here I am delivering.”

Mozzie’s twitchiness receded and his grin grew wider as he listened to Hale’s information.


	4. Chapter 4

While the others made calls, Neal pored over the will more thoroughly. The language was mostly boilerplate, the terms straightforward and nearly identical - the difference being where exactly the zeros were located. For a symbol meaning literally ‘nothing’, he reflected, sometimes a few zeros could signify everything. 

The only part that seemed out of place was the last line: “In the end, there should be nothing between you. Which is everything.” The last bit, the only fragmented sentence in the document, must point to the inheritance, the authentic will. So once there was ‘nothing’ between the brothers, only the inheritance would be left?

But what did that  _ mean? _

“You see anything in there?” asked Josh, having ended his call.

“This last sentence,” said Neal, “it’s one of the few personal touches in the language. Your father seems to be trying to bring the two of you back together. What would he think is between you now?”

“Uhhhh,” sighed Josh. He thought for a moment, shaking his head. “Just… space, really. Look, it’s not like there’s some huge problem - we’re just different people. Different lifestyles, different personalities. My father… well, maybe all parents want to see their sons be close. But -- honestly, James and I get along much better when we’re apart.”

“Hmm… You mentioned different lifestyles - is there one thing that Nathaniel might have associated with you, and another with James? For instance, he clearly associated astronomy with himself.”

Josh sighed again, and glanced around the small room, which entirely lacked inspiration. “Look, the main thing is, I work hard. I manage my business and investments well and I make a lot of money. James… spends a lot of money. On what he thinks are good causes, but…”

“You disagree.”

“It’s inefficient! So much waste. James does make a living, but it’s… haphazard. He follows whatever his latest interest is. He’s impulsive. He wants to spread money all over, help everyone out, but he’s willing to let others do all the hard work… Ahh, I didn’t intend this to be a rant about James. I’m sure he’d have equally negative things to say about me - too driven, uptight, can’t relax and enjoy life - not that that’s true, but--”

“I understand,” said Neal. “Could there be some representation of business success versus charitable efforts…?”

Josh shook his head. “I don’t think so. Dad didn’t go in for recognition or acknowledgements - his success was represented by the wealth you can see - oh, you haven’t been to the house. If you had, you’d know what I mean. It’s obviously the home of a very wealthy family. And he has celestial spheres and nautical globes and such all over - any visitor immediately knows what his passion is.”

“I see.” Neal did. He could picture the exact kind of ostentatious display Josh meant. Probably an ‘old money’ style, whether the wealth was inherited or not. In Neal’s imagination the walls were filled with art, naturally, although Nathaniel would likely tend towards realistic views of the night sky or ancient depictions of constellations and such. But there was one kind of art nearly universal among the wealthy. “How about portraits? Did he commission any?”

Josh shook his head. “No, like I said, he showed off his wealth, but he wasn’t really vain.”

“And none of you or your brother?”

“No, thank god,” answered Josh. “Although, he did go through a photography phase. He got a camera for Christmas one year, and went about taking pictures of everything, starting with James and me.”

“Are those photos of you displayed in the house?”

“Probably - I’ll call James.”

Neal leaned back and closed his eyes while Josh made the call. This would be so much easier if he could be there, but his imagination and visual spatial skills were powerful. Even without having seen the house, he could picture what it might look like, start thinking where this clue could lead - hidden panels, revolving bookcases - what sort of hiding place would an astronomy buff consider? In the ceiling? One photo upstairs, another down?

“Wait, James, let me put you on speakerphone. Okay, now say that again.” Josh set the phone down on the table between them.

“You just asked me about photos of us that Dad took, and I found the one from Christmas that you mentioned, except it’s been cut in half.”

“How do you mean?” Neal asked, leaning forward towards the phone. Displaying photos cut in half was pretty eccentric, especially for a man who seemed to want to unite his family.

“Dad was in the middle, with Josh on one side and me on the other. He cut the photo right down the center, so I’m in one and Josh in the other, and half of Dad in each.”

Josh and Neal looked at each other. “Where are these photos located?” asked Neal. 

“That’s the other odd thing - you know the freestanding case Dad had built to house his book collection?” 

“Yeah,” said Josh. “The big one set in the middle of the room with narrow shelves in the center.”

“Right. Well, the photo with you is on one side, and the one with me on the other.”

“What’s in between you?” asked Neal. “The bookshelves?”

“No, that’s just it - there’s nothing there. The FBI agents - we were looking through everything, like you asked, and they noticed that the case is much bigger than it needs to be. There must be a large space inside it on either side of the shelves.”

Neal leaned back with a triumphant grin. “That’s where it--”

“Peter’s got Savannah!” Jones interrupted. From the speakerphone they could hear a commotion from the agents and James. Jones held his phone so Josh could see the message. “They found her. She’s safe.”

“Oh, thank god! James, I’ll be right there!” Josh picked up his phone and headed for the door.

Jones collected the papers from the table. As he started to leave with Josh, he turned back and said, “Great work, Neal, thank you.” 

Neal grimaced at Jones’ retreating back. Maybe he helped find the will - he wondered if he’d ever learn the outcome - but he’d done nothing to assist the little girl.

**~*~oOo~*~**

 

“Listen up, Federale,” said the machine-toned voice on the phone.

“Moz, quit with the games,” said Peter, exasperated. “I know it’s you - you’re the only one who uses a voice modulator!”

“If you are still looking for associates of Adler’s,” the voice continued, unchanged and undeterred, “I have a tip for you.”

Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, okay, whaddya got?”

The voice had a time and place, which Peter noted down carefully.

**~*~oOo~*~**

 

Neal was running.

 

Contrary to most expectations, he wasn’t running  _ from, _ he was running  _ to. _ Kate was in trouble and he had to help her. He  _ needed _ to; she told him so.

But he was so slow. He wasn’t speeding in a car; he wasn’t soaring over land. The manacle around his left ankle left him slogging through the streets. He tried pulling himself along with his arms.

Then he remembered: Kate was dead. They had been running together, but he was too slow, held back by the chain on his ankle. She had got ahead of him, alone and unprotected. She’d been killed.

It was Elizabeth he was running to save now. The wolves were chasing her. She was smart, but they were vicious and worked in a pack. They were driving her to the edge. They’d tear out her heart or she’d fall over onto unyielding ground too far below.

Neal looked for Peter, and there he was, at his side, in a bright orange jumpsuit like his own. They were both manacled, chained together at the ankle like entrants in a three-legged race for convicts.

 

They were losing. 

 

They couldn’t find a rhythm together. One would fall down and the other would have to help him up. They weren’t in sync at all and each blamed the other. 

Elizabeth was still too far off and Neal’s anxiety grew. He tried to get a message to Mozzie, without Peter seeing, which was next to impossible as they were literally chained together. The message he was trying to send was: “There should be nothing between you,” which in the dream-logic would tell Mozzie how to help El.

Neal woke with a tearing grief, the words “there should be nothing between you” echoing in his mind.

**~*~oOo~*~**

 

At the designated time, Mozzie and Hale watched the designated place from a safe distance, making use of some of the best Russian surplus available to professional collectors who had little regard for convention.

“That’s not your protégé Leon, though, is it?” asked Mozzie, watching the Men in Suits converge on a couple of guys about to enter a storage container.

“Oh no. I told you my boy is smart. He makes mistakes but he learns from ‘em. He listened to me good this time.”

“Well, you pass along my thanks to him. I mean, thank him for me, but not from me, if you know what I mean. Which you do.”

Hale chuckled. “Yeah, Mozzie, I get you. I always do.”

“But they are Adler henchmen, right?”

“Yep.”

“Good, because I hate to think I might have been anything less than accurate in an anonymous tip to the Feds.”

At this Hale outright laughed, his overflowing belly jiggling so much he almost missed the good part.

“Shhh! Watch!” hissed Mozzie.

The Feds had arrested the two men and were looking in the open door of the container, triumphant smiles spreading across their faces.

“What I would give to look inside right now,” murmured Hale.

“Oh, here,” said Mozzie, setting aside his spyglass. He pulled out his phone and navigated to the view from a hidden camera he’d placed earlier, looking directly at (now through) the door.

Hale whistled. “Wow, that is something. Mmm-mm. And that’s only half of it?”

“Some portion, anyway,” said Moz. “I might not be the only squirrel in New York City.”

Hale grinned, then chuckled, then broke out in laughter again. “Mozzie, you sly devil. Oh, you sly old devil, you.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Moz said stiffly. “I thought Leon set this all up?”

“He dropped some hints in one ear, some other hints in another. I told you he is smart, but folks always underestimate him. He wasn’t anything like Adler’s right-hand man, but he wasn’t just some thug either. Adler had him finding locations, equipment, contacts. He learned enough to put two and two together, to know who was doing what for the boss. But he didn’t magick this stash up, my man. That’s the thing.”

“Well, no,” said Mozzie, puzzled. “That’s what I thought Adler’s guys were doing there. At least one of them knew, or found out, where the second stash was, and the other guy was going to find a buyer.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. ‘Found out’.” Hale looked at him sideways. “You keep your secrets, squirrel; I don’t want them. But don’t be thinking you can pull the wool over these old eyes.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Mozzie repeated, agitated. “I wish,” he cleared his throat, “I wish Leon could get a finder’s fee at least, but I don’t see how…”

Hale shook his head. “That’s all right. He’s keeping out of prison, and after working for a man like Adler, that ought to be enough for him. He got a good education out of it, and his head’s still attached to his shoulders. That’s reward enough.”

“Still. I know how it feels. I wish I could offer him something for his help, but I’m cleaned out from that airplane fiasco.”

“Fiasco?”

“I suppose not _exactly_ a disaster; of course the operation went smoothly enough. Life saved, bad guy in custody,” Mozzie sighed. “It just seems like something the Feds ought to have paid for, not me and Neal.”

Hale’s lips quirked up on one side. “You could always put in a requisition for reimbursement, yeah? Can’t Neal file an expense report?”

Mozzie shuddered from head to toes. “Do not even mention such a thing! I’d rather go flat broke. Fortunately, it’s not as bad as all that. Close, but not quite. I’m sure finances will straighten themselves out in due course.”

“I’m sure they will. If you’ve got any profitable endeavors coming your way - that don’t involve Nazi artifacts - be sure and let me know.”

“I will, Hale. You know you’re a prince among men.”

“Why, thank you, Moz. I’d return the compliment, except I’m not sure you’d take it as one.”

Mozzie smiled. “Certainly I have no pretensions to royalty. Just a regular guy, me.” That startled another laugh out of Hale. Mozzie collected his various pieces of equipment and packed them away. “You take care, Hale. Be seeing you.”

“Not if I see you first!” Hale called, chuckling. 

Moz merely waved a hand as he retreated. “You won’t!” he called back over his shoulder.


End file.
